Bedside Manners
by madame.alexandra
Summary: After the Battle of Yavin, Leia's confined to the hospital bay for medical treatment. It's a lonely, sterile place - until uncouth smugglers butt in. ANH (pre-medal ceremony); Han/Leia - beginnings of friendship/romance.


_a/n: set on Yavin, but before the Medal Ceremony_

* * *

 ** _Bedside Manners_**

* * *

The unbridled celebratory spirit that came with such an unlikely victory against the Empire surged through the Rebel Alliance for days after the initial event; energetic triumph permeated every word, every action, and a sense of determination and hope for the future of the cause was renewed – but the elation didn't touch _her_ on any level, physical or spiritual.

Princess Leia spent the days following the Death Star's destruction in the rudimentary medical bay, medicated, sedated, in a haze of half-conscious uncertainty. When she was awake, _lucid_ , being tended by the physicians, she struggled to share in the happiness, but the looming specter of Alderaan robbed her of the ability to feel joy; when she slept she was haunted by bad dreams that she never seemed to really wake up from.

She felt alone in the universe – and the medical bay was a lonely, abandoned place.

Often, she feigned sleep to avoid conversation, though it was rare for someone other than a physician or a nurse to speak with her; General Rieekan kept an uneasy eye on her from afar, consulting, she knew, with the leadership on what to do with her – what to do with her, because the plan had been to send her home, to send her into hiding and that – that was impossible now. They had a displaced Princess on their hands, a girl with no family and nowhere to go. Luke visited when they allowed it, but he was so young, so excited, so eager for the adventure he thought he'd found – she felt thousands of years older than him.

Every day, they told her she was healing; every day, she felt more wounded.

She was unnerved by the solitude she was afforded; on Alderaan, in the senate, in her life – she'd never been alone – royals did not sustain that sort of luxury. She'd once lamented the constant presence of guards or servants or chaperones. Now, it wasn't the pressure and the hovering she missed, it was human presence.

She thought she'd despair of how bleak the days were, behind the privacy curtain in the hospital – and her resignation to melancholy wasn't helping her heal – but she opened her eyes one afternoon, her head heavy with meds, and when she turned to the side, the curtain was pulled back, and there was an occupied chair drawn up beside her bed.

Leia turned onto her side gingerly, pushing hair back from her face – her mane was a mess; pulled back simply into a long plate, strands escaping and twisting into knots, and the loose bits around her forehead framed her face, unkempt. She blinked unsteadily, unable to lift her head for a moment – it always took a bit, when she woke, for the sedated feeling to abate and the world to come into focus.

His figure was soft and muted in her unfocused eyes, but after a moment, she recognized him.

"Captain Solo?" she asked in a murmur.

She had no idea that to him, she sounded unexpectedly sultry; the low, slightly scratchy tenor of her voice that sleep and medication evinced matured the shrill, demanding girlishness he remembered from the rescue and the battle. That was why he didn't answer right away – he was taken aback.

He smiled broadly, and leaned forward, his arms on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. By the time he answered, she could see him clearly, and she self-consciously clasped at the blanket on her, drawing it towards her shoulders.

"Hey there, Your Highness," he said smoothly.

In all her life, she'd never met someone who made her title sound so like a _joke_.

She considered him a moment, and swallowed hard, pushing more hair out of her face.

"Who let you in here?" she asked quietly – no one had been to see her, no one save Luke and Rieekan – she was being guarded, and she was well aware of it.

He shrugged.

"I let myself in," he said.

She pursed her lips, skeptical.

"They allowed you in here with me?" she asked.

He shrugged, straightening, and leaning back in the chair lazily.

"Nah, they told me I was _unauthorized_ ," he said flippantly. "I sat down anyway, though. Then, the nurse got a doctor. Still refused to leave and," he pointed to his hip holster, "I'm armed, so that guy went to tell on me," he explained, as if recounting a dangerous crime he'd committed. "I guess your jailers aren't too concerned, 'cause no one's come in to drag me out."

Leia smiled – the act so startled her that it faded quickly, and she compressed her lips – it hurt to smile, like she was cutting through scar tissue; she hadn't smiled since the night of the battle, and that night was a blur of adrenaline – adrenaline that had faded, and landed her here, by herself, to drown in the aftermath.

"My jailers?" she murmured.

She found she liked the description a bit.

"Yeah, them," Han Solo said, jerking his thumb ambiguously over his shoulder. "I keep tryin' to tell them I didn't risk my hide on that battle station so they could lock you right back up."

She slid her hands under her head, using them as an extra pillow. Her brow furrowed for a moment -she felt like she should balk at the comparison, cringe away from him, but there was something eerily similar in how she was confined to the medical bay – she knew she was hurt, badly in some cases, but it really was so impersonal and so – suffocating.

"How did they take that?" she asked mildly.

"Your man Rieekan," Han said pointedly. "Got offended. Said you were _unwell_ , and here for your own protection."

"Carlist means well," Leia said softly. "He doesn't know what to do about…me."

Han grunted sort of skeptically, shaking his head.

"I guess no one told that guy you don't need other people protectin' you," he went on.

Leia shifted her head on her hands, compressing her lips. She resisted a yawn, and kept shaking off the grogginess, unexpectedly drawn in to the conversation – fascinated, really, by the fact that he was here at all.

"I don't?" she asked, a little skeptically.

Han snorted.

"Didn't seem to," he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Think I remember some girl in a dress grabbing my gun from me and taking charge."

She felt her cheeks colour, and her lips – her lips turned up again, in a smile. She tried to bite it back, but it was futile, and she expected the resulting expression on her face was some sort of pained amusement. She rubbed her ankles together and propped her head up on her hands a little more.

"What are you doing here, Captain Solo?" she asked.

"Avoiding the kid," Han answered immediately. "He follows me around."

She didn't say anything, just smiled a little. He fidgeted, and leaned forward again, shrugging.

"I been in here a coupla times," he said. He seemed evasive for a moment, and then frowned almost grudgingly. "Stocking some supplies," he admitted finally, moving on quickly. "Noticed no one visits you."

Leia felt a sharp pain in her chest – of all people, _he'd_ noticed? The mercenary – the _smuggler_ , picked up on the fact that she was so – so isolated? She looked at him silently for a moment, and then mustered a look of nonchalance, shrugging lightly.

"Of course not," she told him, trying to remain aloof. "I'm too high ranking. They're terrified to have me among the enlisted."

Han grinned.

"I thought you were one of 'em," he retorted.

He must have said something wrong; her eyes flicked down for a long second, and then she lifted them again, not quite looking at him, and shrugging again, this time heavily. That was the rub, wasn't it? She'd been an ally, a known sympathizer, a part of the Alliance mechanism, but she hadn't been part of the rank and file; she'd been a link in their construct, and with this whole ordeal she was exposed as a dissident, she was an inarguable traitor and – they'd never expected to have the Princess Leia on their hands as a responsibility.

She didn't say any of that, though.

She said:

"I am."

He looked at her curiously for a minute.

"What'd you mean, Rieekan doesn't know what to do with you?"

She tensed a little, and turned, looking up at the ceiling. She moved on of her hands from her pillow and made sure the sheets were still covering her – she wore a gown, but years of aggressive, Alderaanian-instilled modesty made her feel like his presence here was somehow indecent.

"I," she began, unsure why she was answering him at all. "I was supposed to go home, after I delivered the plans to Ben Kenobi," she said softly.

Han was quiet. He looked down at his hands, examining his nails thoughtfully. There wasn't much he could say to that, and he felt horrible for bringing it up. He quickly tried to think of something else to say to take her mind off of it, but she surprised him by speaking first.

"I would have gone into hiding within the network," she said. "Worked on the political side of things. I know my father had a plan," she broke off, "but no one knew what it was," she finished quietly.

They truly didn't know what to do with her. Rieekan was a good man, and he cared about her, but he'd never dreamed he'd end up with the Princess on a military base, and he thought of her not as a warrior, but as an heiress to be protected. She didn't blame him for that – she just didn't feel much like that anymore herself.

He started to speak again, but she turned her head, looking at him critically.

"You brought us supplies?" she asked, honing in on the statement he'd tried to brush over.

He rubbed his jaw, and shrugged roughly.

"I made a hop over to Oryxel Minor; it's close," he muttered. He looked sheepish, and didn't say anything else – and she didn't, either, because she didn't know what to make of it. It seemed like a remarkably kind thing for a mercenary to do – even if they did pay him, which she assumed they had.

He gave her a smirk suddenly.

"So you can thank me for all that stuff they've got you doped up on," he drawled, reverting back to his usual machismo.

She rolled her eyes tiredly, and looked at the IV drip attached to her arm.

"I could do without it," she said hoarsely.

Han nodded – he didn't like the way painkillers and sedatives made him feel, either, and he'd never had as much given to him as they were giving her. He'd heard she'd been treated pretty badly on that battle station. Half the reason he'd come in here is because he'd heard one of the pilots telling Luke she'd overseen the whole battle despite three broken ribs.

He couldn't get that out of his head.

That was so… _not_ what he thought a Princess was.

She turned towards him again, brushed hair from her face, and rose up on one arm, wincing heavily. Her braid fell over her shoulder, and the way she modestly pulled at the sheet made him smile a little. He leaned back and slouched down some.

"Why are you still here, Captain?" she asked intently.

"I got nothin' else to do," he said.

She shook her head.

"That's not what I meant," she told him, and she was pretty sure he knew exactly what she'd meant – he hadn't even wanted to stay for the final battle, and though she appreciated his last minute change of heart – or overbearing guilt at leaving them to the wolves – he was truly the last person she'd expect to still be around almost two weeks later.

He glanced to the side, and shrugged as coolly as possible. Instead of answering, he looked back at her, and frowned.

"Can you call me Han?" he asked, a little dryly. "Just—drop the Captain," he requested.

Her brows went up.

"Aren't you the captain of that ship?" she asked – he'd almost call her tone cheeky.

"Yeah," he answered hastily. "I just don't like – the titles. Reminds me of the Academy."

"You were at the academy?" she asked skeptically.

He nodded.

"What were you kicked out for?"

"Hey," he retorted. "How'd you know I didn't just quit?"

She tilted her head forward pointedly.

He grinned.

"Insubordination," he answered. He didn't tell her he'd been stepping in to keep them from hurting Chewbacca.

She bit her lower lip, her eyes searching his intently. He saw her mind working behind those brown eyes, and he felt like she was reading him. She sensed – he didn't really know why he was still here, despite all his loud and proud talk about getting the hell away from their little insurrection; she also sensed he didn't have quite as strong an intention of leaving as he used to. She felt – that he had a purpose here; he just hadn't pinpointed it yet.

"Okay, Han," she agreed softly.

His name sounded so musical on her lips, and he liked that she smiled a little when she said it – tentative, friendly; appreciative. He was glad he'd come in here with some slightly morbid curiosity about her; it was looking to be worth it.

"What'm I supposed to call you?" he asked, giving her a lopsided grin. "Don't think I got it right during the rescue – is it Your Supreme Highness? Or, uh – Your Worship – Your Majesty…?

In spite of herself, she started to laugh, sitting up further. She curled her legs towards her, and the sheet fell down around her lap – leaving her in the sleeveless cotton gown they'd given her. She didn't worry too much when the movement exposed the bruises and the needle marks on her arms - -and the thing was, though she saw _him_ notice them, he didn't say anything.

Somehow, that made her feel – better.

"Surprise me," she answered – and in that answer, she surprised him, because he hadn't expected her to respond with something that almost resembled banter.

"I've got a bunch up my sleeve," he warned.

"You do, do you?"

"Yeah, been keepin' a notebook," he said, feigning seriousness.

"You've got nothing better to do than come up with ridiculous titles for me?"

"You got it, Sweetheart," he drawled.

She blushed, and looked down at her hand. She curled her fingers into her palm and then looked back up at him – she felt better than she had in days; maybe it was human contact, maybe it was him. He'd made her laugh – she thought she'd never laugh again. The way he spoke to her – he talked to her like he didn't care who she was, and despite what the others might think, she didn't find that disrespectful.

She didn't like being spoken to in hushes and soft, soothing platitudes; she didn't like the pity that oozed all around her - she liked being talked to like she was – like she was human.

She looked at him with a certain amount of unspoken gratitude on her face, and he shrugged, understanding, somehow, without needing to hear her say it – in a very different way, he knew what it was like to be an outsider, and he knew what it was like to have the life you thought you were leading ripped away in a head-spinning second. Not in the same way she did – he hadn't lost a planet – but there'd been a time in his life when he hadn't aspired to be a criminal.

Footsteps interrupted their quiet commiseration, and Han arched an eyebrow.

"I told you they went to tell on me," he said dryly.

Leia's latest doctor, followed by General Rieekan, hurried around the corner. The doctor folded his arms and pointed, and Rieekan approached, his eyes narrowing.

"Solo," he began, testy but not too harsh. "You have no business in here hassling Princess Leia; she's in need of rest and recuperation in order to best heal – "

"That doctor," Han said, pointing rudely. "Doesn't know Sith about healing."

Rieekan arched his eyebrows.

"Did you got to Medical Academy, Captain?"

Han shrugged.

"No," he retorted. "But any idiot can tell you that you can't recover on your own," he said, surprisingly sage. "Half of it's up here," he pointed to his head, "and bein' alone ain't good – hell, they don't put prisoners in solitary confinement to reward 'em."

He said the last bit more pointedly than he meant to, but he didn't really apologize for it – he just wasn't sure it was so great for them to stick Leia in a grey room all by herself when she'd just spend more time than anyone wanted to imagine in a cell with four thick grey walls.

Rieekan sighed, rubbing his jaw tensely.

"Regardless, Princess Leia isn't just another pilot or supply officer – "

"Carlist?" Leia interrupted, soft but commanding.

He turned to her, his hand pausing on his jaw. She ran her hand lightly over her shoulder, more self-conscious under his gaze than under Han's – but maybe that was because Rieekan had known her _before_ , and even now, so soon after the trauma, she was starting to think of herself as the Leia _before_ and the Leia _after_.

"Yes, Princess?" he asked.

She straightened her shoulders.

"I'd like Han to stay," she told him simply, brooking no argument.

Rieekan faltered.

"He's not disrupting you?" he asked, suspicious.

Leia smiled slightly.

"He's got surprisingly good bedside manners," she said, well aware that the idea wasn't intuitive – even to her.

When she'd opened her eyes to find him sitting there, she'd hazily worried that they'd neglected to pay him, and he was there to shake her down for interest on his credits. She hadn't thought – and she still wasn't sure she believed – he'd just come by because he…thought she needed company.

After a moment, Rieekan nodded.

"Very well," he simply agreed.

He nodded again, and walked off, leaving the physician looking a bit stunned. After a moment, the man mustered a look of acceptance, and shot Han a warning look, giving him a cool eye.

"Do not excite her," he ordered.

Han held up his hands defensively and said nothing, waiting until the doctor stalked away, out of earshot. He turned towards Leia with his eyebrows raised and she pursed her lips, half expecting a wildly lewd comeback for the doctor's – choice of words.

Han said nothing, though; he just lowered his hands, and leaned forward. His eyes lingered on her battered arms for a moment, and then he looked down at his boots – he'd forgotten, in all his years since the Academy, how brutal the regime was. He neglected to think about the system that ruled them when he spent so much of his time living outside of the law.

He cleared his throat and looked back up at her, his gaze intent. He really didn't know why he was still here; it wasn't just because Chewbacca liked the cause – Chewbacca answered to him. He wasn't even sure why he was sitting here in this room, visiting her.

The simplest explanation was just that – he was _curious._

"So," he said gruffly. "You wanna give me a topic that won't _excite_ you?"

Her eyes flickered a little mischievously.

"You could tell me about your ship," she said sweetly.

He glared at her, but he couldn't keep the smirk off of his face – he was willing to bet that when she was back on her feet, she'd be an even match – for anyone, at anything. Leia smiled back tentatively, uncertainly, silently asking herself why she wanted him to stay. Unbidden, the answer came to her – he had no idea who the _before_ Leia was; he didn't look to her like she was broken, he didn't talk to her like she was on the edge of shattering – he was irreverent, rough around the edges, raw; he didn't care about her title and he didn't agonize over what to do with her.

And that – well, maybe that was the kind of person she wanted around when the physical wounds healed, and she was left to try and cope with jagged edges the Empire had left her with.

* * *

 _not entirely sure i like the final line, but i like the concept of before/after i'm playing with in a lot of my stuff._  
 _though, i think Han and Leia would have gone for each other in any universe_

 _-alexandra_  
 _story #286_


End file.
